


Cas-Go-Round

by ljunattainable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x03 spoilers, Deviates From Canon, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Sam is Sam, Torture, au after 9x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/ljunattainable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his own after Dean threw him out of the bunker, Cas is a long way from safe.  He's hunted by factions of demons and angels alike who all believe he's important to reversing or undermining Metatron's spell.  Once captured by one faction, he's quickly sought and taken by others.  Tortured, and closer and closer to death, Castiel doesn't think anyone will come looking for him, but Dean and Sam are desperately trying to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cas-Go-Round

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn reversebang 2013 on [LJ](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com).  
> I was so happy to be paired with the great artist [thepoette](http://thepoette.tumblr.com) who is also a lovely person and we had a lot of fun working together.
> 
> The art's in the fic but also [here](http://thepoette.tumblr.com/post/74782485422/blood-sluggishly-seeps-out-of-cass-wounds-until).
> 
> I am fairly ignorant of what's happening in S9 so I picked one idea out of the one episode I actually saw and ran with it, hence it deviates from canon.

  


**

Chapter 1

**

The lights are flickering. It’s possible that it could be the poor power supply in the small sleep-out Castiel’s managed to beg for a few nights but he doubts it. Knowing his luck it's going to be something a lot more dangerous because that’s just the way his life seems to go, angel or human. Castiel puts the book he's been reading face down on the floor beside him, still open at his page in case he's wrong - he jumps at his own shadow these days after all.

Something knocks against the outside wall, not loud, more a scuff. It could have been the wind. Just because you’re paranoid it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, Dean told him once, and as usual at the moment, he ignores the tug of regret that accompanies every single thought of Dean as he pulls himself up to sitting on his bedroll, cocooned in his two threadbare blankets, alert and waiting.

The door rattles on its hinges, very obviously not the wind, or the power supply, or any other safe explanation, and Castiel has no time to prepare himself before seconds later two angels break in loudly, the wood of the door splintering easily before them. Castiel grabs his blade, always close, in his right hand and he holds it threateningly in front of him as he scrabbles desperately at the blanket trying to untangle himself, pushing back against the wall, fighting for purchase unsuccessfully with his stockinged feet.

The angels draw to a halt at the foot of his bed. "Castiel," the taller angel says by way of greeting.

"What do you want?" he asks. He’s relieved that there’s no tremor in his voice to give away his fear. He still has his pride, if nothing else.

"We want you, of course." Both angels tilt their head in symmetry and look genuinely confused as if Castiel’s asked the most obvious question ever, and maybe he has but his intention had been for something a little more precise - he'd got that far on his own.

"Why?" He tries instead. Angels mostly come after him for revenge, but if that was the case here, he’s sure he’d be dead by now.

The angels nominated spokesperson shakes his head. "It's not our place to say. Put the sword down, we're not here to harm you."

Castiel's sword stays where it is. "I find that difficult to believe." 

“Be that as it may, it’s the truth, but we are running to a deadline and I regret it, but if you don’t cooperate you may get hurt, so I suggest you put down your sword.”

The two angels separate, one walking around to the left of Castiel's bed, and the other to the right. Both have their blades in their hands now and Castiel knows he'll have little chance to use his. He swivels his head from side to side trying to keep them both in his vision. 

“Put the sword down,” the angel says again.

Castiel considers his chances, which aren’t good if he’s honest, but he can’t just give in. Before he can have second thoughts, he rolls forward on to all fours and makes a lunge towards the door. He's pulled up short by a huge hand on his shoulder that grips him tight, fingertips digging in painfully between muscles and tendons and bone, and hauls him back. He looks up to see the hilt of the second angel’s sword being swung viciously towards his head. He flinches automatically, squeezing his eyes tight shut, but the expected blow doesn’t come. When he opens his eyes and looks up, there’s a silent battle going on above his head. The angel who spoke to him has the other angel’s wrist in his fist and they’re staring at each other in telepathic argument that Castiel can no longer hear. Finally, the first angel lets go of the other’s wrist and too late Castiel sees a hand reaching for his head with two fingers held out. The pads of the angel's fingertips land firmly on his forehead and his last thought for some time is that he suddenly understands why Dean found this so disconcerting. 

#

When Castiel wakes up the first thing he does is vomits. Vile, bitter tasting liquid fills his mouth and he turns quickly onto his side, more by luck than judgment finding the edge of the narrow bed as the few semi-digested remnants of his last meal spew involuntarily out of his mouth and on to the floor. The bed tries to roll away from under him and his hands grip hard into the blanket to stop himself rolling with it. Unfortunately, nobody told his stomach or his head that staying still was the plan. His stomach keeps cramping long after it empties itself and even after his stomach finally gives up, his head keeps swimming with feelings of vertigo. He should probably concentrate on where he is and why but all he seems to be able to concentrate on right now is not throwing up. Castiel adds this to one of the many human experiences he'd really rather not have.

The bed pitches violently, tipping forward. Castiel tries to grab hold of something more solid to stop himself pitching with it but he's too late to stop himself rolling dangerously close to the edge of the bed, threatening to spill out on to the floor. His stomach reminds him it's not happy, and groaning loudly in discomfort, he tries, with partial success, to jam himself into the corner between the bedding and the wall.

It's while he's shuffling to find the most comfortable position that a scraping noise from above gets his unwilling attention. He'd ignore it except that he's staring up at the ceiling anyway when a moment later, a wedge of light appears above his head as a hatch opens. There's a figure wearing bright yellow waterproof clothing silhouetted in the light and behind him is a dark sky and swirling rain and spray.

"Are you awake?" the voice yells at him over the noise of the storm and Castiel is blinded suddenly by a flashlight shining in his face.

"Yes," Castiel manages, before groaning as the simple word allows bile to rise up into his mouth and he has to swallow and shut his mouth to stop himself being sick.

Castiel can't see anything past the flashlight but the man sounds relieved. "You've been out cold since we left port. I was starting to think they'd dumped a corpse on me." 

Castiel should probably ask who 'they' are. Instead he grips the edge of the bed harder against another sharp pitch and gives another loud, involuntary groan.

The figure in yellow waterproofs actually laughs. "You’ll stop feeling seasick soon," he yells against the noise of the storm, "and the storm will be over in a couple of hours anyway. Stay in the bunk - it's safer. Do you want water?" Castiel nods half-heartedly and seconds later a plastic water bottle lands on the bunk in the space between his elbow and the bedframe. It's followed a moment later by a small box. "Sea-sickness pills. I don't want you drowning in your own vomit."

Castiel starts to say thank you, but he's plunged back into semi-darkness as the hatch is slammed shut decisively. He forces himself to swallow two of the pills and washes them down with a couple of mouthfuls of water, then he curls on to his side and huddles miserably in the bunk waiting for them to take effect.

Eventually he does stop feeling quite so ill. Either the pills are working or the movement around him has lessened, maybe a bit of both. He straightens himself out on the bunk and acknowledges that the movement of the boat, for it's finally got through his slow-focusing brain that he is on a boat, is significantly less than it was. He's starting to think about climbing out of the bunk and doing something about the uncomfortable pressure in his bladder when he hears the scraping noise that signals the hatch being opened.

A youngish man, maybe Sam's age, with sun-blond hair and a tanned complexion is visible in the frame. He's wearing a black sweater and the bottom half of the yellow waterproof outfit. Blue sky and sunlight is clearly visible beyond him. When he speaks, Castiel recognizes the voice from earlier.

"Are you still kicking?" the man asks.

Castiel's not sure what he means but he's fairly sure the man doesn't mean the question literally. He doesn't say anything just in case.

"I need to hear you speak," the man says. "I can't see you properly down there. Are you still alive? Are you feeling better?"

Castiel croaks out "yes." His throat's dry and sore from all the retching. He works some saliva into his mouth. "Where am I? Why am I here?" 

The man hesitates. "Where isn't really important."

"Then why - " Cas starts but he's interrupted.

"Look, they paid me to keep you out of the way for a few days, I don’t know why. I have no personal grudge – I don’t know who you are and I don’t want to know – but you'll come to no harm while you're with me. Don't ask any more questions - I won't answer them."

Castiel frowns. "You're not an angel."

The man laughs. "A what? Man, either you're still sick or you hit your noggin pretty hard." He drops a bag onto the floor of the room and it lands with a soft thud. "There's food and more water in there when you feel up to it." The man turns to look behind him at something out of Castiel's narrow field of view and before he can say anything else, the hatch is dropped shut.

Castiel swings his legs over the side of the bunk and stands up. His stomach lurches and his head spins but it's manageable. The tiny room is dark, having no windows to speak of, but enough light is getting through the one small, grubby porthole set into the wall just above his eye level that he can make out the shapes of the bunk, a toilet, and a locker built into the bulkhead on the narrower end of the room, a mere three strides away. 

He makes use of the toilet, then picks up the bag that was dropped through the hatch and takes out the water. He can't quite face the food and he leaves it where it is. Sitting back on the bunk he takes small sips of water as he thinks through his situation. Whichever way he looks at it, it's not promising. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to abduct him and then to incarcerate him somewhere that makes him very hard to find, putting him on an ocean surrounded by human, not angel, guards. 

He and Dean have their problems at the moment and Castiel is fairly sure that it would take a while before Dean and Sam bothered to look for him. So given that he has no friends that would notice or care about his absence, his captors can only be intending to keep him hidden from his enemies - his other enemies. Does that make his captors his friends? Castiel seriously doubts it. There are as many warring factions in Heaven as there are on warring nations on Earth.

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a loud warning shout from the deck above his head and he jumps to his feet. The shout's followed by scuffling noises, a few thuds, more yelling, a scream that's abruptly cut off. Then another shout, very close, directly overhead, then another in a different voice, followed by the sound of boots thudding heavily and frantically from stern to bow. Castiel stares up at the hatch, willing it to open but it remains stubbornly closed. The noises carry on over his head, rising in desperation. More shouting, another scream, a splash. Then the hatch abruptly opens and a head peers through and down at him. Castiel recognizes the face – it’s one of the angels who abducted him, the spokesman of the two.

"Castiel. Come with me."

"What's going on," Castiel demands, not moving.

"There’s no time to explain." The angel reaches his hand in through the hatch. "Stand on the locker. I'll pull you out."

"Why should I trust you?"

"What's your alternative?"

A huge thud shudders the boat and spray covers the angel and showers in through the gap onto the floor of Castiel's jail. The angel looks nervously over his shoulder. Castiel makes up his mind. Whether he trusts him or not, going with the angel offers him his only immediately obvious chance of escape. He jumps on to the locker as the angel turns back down to reach out to him. Castiel wraps his hand tightly around the angel's wrist and he's hauled out of the small, dark cabin into brilliant sunlight. As soon as he's out and blinking against the sudden light, the angel turns away from him to meet an attacker. Castiel crouches for a second longer before sliding around the sword fight and backing away towards the stern of the boat where it's much quieter, all the fighting currently concentrated at the bow. 

There are two battling pairs of angels dancing between and around all the paraphernalia on the deck. Someone lies dead half-in and half-out of the boat. Human. There's a body in a black sweater and bright yellow waterproofs face-down in the water to starboard, bobbing up and down on the waves left over from the storm. A smaller boat is tied up to the side of the boat they're all on, which itself isn't large, all of thirty feet at most. Castiel looks around for something to use as a weapon. There’s a heavy spanner clipped against the outside of a locker along with some smaller tools. Castiel’s hand closes around the spanner and unclips it just before a foot in worn work boots stomps down viciously on his wrist.

Then it's a confused blur. There's more yelling. One voice shouts his name with urgency, and one shouts it with anger, the sound of fighting intensifies and the fights start to move towards the stern and towards Castiel. The angel currently towering over him kicks the spanner away out of reach and Castiel is flung face down onto the deck. His cheek connects painfully with a cleat holding down a second hatch and he winces, clamping his teeth together against the desire to shout out. He tries to get up, but he's held down with what feels like a foot between his shoulder blades. He looks around him and spies a short metal tool, like a close-ended pipe, within reach. As he stretches his arm out towards it, fingers reaching for it, a boot lands on his forearm and he hears the sickening sound of the bone snapping just before the pain registers. Gasping, a sudden shocked intake of breath, he tries to twist away. As he does so he hears his name yelled again urgently and the next thing he knows the angel with the heavy boots is yanked off him and sent sprawling to the other side of the boat.

He watches the fight, still sitting on the deck, his broken arm pulled in and cradled close to his chest. The fight doesn't last long - the angel who saved him kills the angel who broke his arm with clinical ease, his blade coming away bloody as the body falls away and over the rail into the sea.

The surviving angel turns to him. It's the same one who lifted him out of the cabin. 

"You must come with us."

Castiel looks around him. He can't see any land but he can see a clump of cloud just over the horizon that indicates where the land is. He's never sailed a boat before. He has a broken arm. Regardless, he thinks he'll take his chances.

"No, I won't."

The angel's expression saddens. "Believe me when I say I don’t want to hurt you, but my orders are to keep you out of the way of any other interests until we’re ready, so if I have to, I will take you by force."

"And who exactly did your orders come from?"

"Elias," the angel says. He stands up straighter and seems almost reverential. Castiel's eyes narrow in recognition of the name. Elias is no friend of his - a sorcerer, as close to an atheist as is possible amongst angels. A sworn enemy of Metatron, the voice of a God he doesn't really believe in. Elias has been absent for thousands upon thousands of years.

Castiel subconsciously takes a step back - 'away from the crazy' as Dean would say. "What does Elias want with me?" 

"Elias will depose Metatron and Heaven will be ours," the angel says simply. "You're the key, Castiel." He leans in earnestly. "When the spell is ready you'll complete it. Your death can be quick and painless if you cooperate, I promise.”

Castiel quietly lowers his good arm to his side and his fingers spread out, surreptitiously seeking the tool he was trying to reach earlier. A quick and painless death sounds nice, but not dying at all sounds nicer.

"The others? The ones you were fighting? Who are they?" he asks as a distraction. Behind this angel a second angel is wandering the deck, collecting the weapons of fallen combatants and throwing bodies over the side, but he’s not paying them any attention.

The angel practically sneers. "They heard of a spell to re-open Heaven's gates but they have no idea what they're doing. We'll keep you safe from them."

"I don't think so," Castiel says. His fingers gather up the tool and his arm swings wide in one smooth movement. Elias's disciple opens his eyes wide in surprise but not, it turns out, because of Castiel. Someone catches Castiel's wrist from behind.

"I don't think so, either," the voice immediately by his right ear says. A flash of silver is all Castiel sees as a blade comes fast over his shoulder from behind. The angel in front of him twists away and the blade only catches the angel on his upper arm but it’s enough to send him sprawling backwards on to the deck. The bloody blade swiftly lines up against Castiel’s neck and his head is yanked back by a hand pulling painfully at his hair. The angel who'd been cleaning up at the front of the boat takes two steps towards them, but is brought up short when Castiel's attacker growls at him. "Elias wouldn't want his precious Castiel dead now, would he? Not before he's ready." The voice drops lower to practically purr in Castiel's ear. "Castiel, so pleased to finally meet you." Castiel feels a draught of displaced air moments before he sees something heavy heading towards his skull. There's no chance to avoid it.

**

Chapter 2

**

"Dean?... Dean!"

Dean jerks out of his daydream - or daynightmare as it happens - and turns to see Sam staring, worried.

"Where were you? Did you hear a word I said?"

"Of course I did." He didn't. Sam knows he didn't. 

"Have you heard from Cas recently?" Sam asks, with huge sympathetic puppy eyes. Sam's concern is genuine but Dean’s not up for playing the 'feelings' game.

Dean runs his fingers through his hair. "No," he says bluntly. "Change the subject. Let's go with I didn't hear you, and you can start again."

Sam ignores him. Of course he does. "Dean - you guys... you've been together, what? Four years on and off? This isn't the first time you've argued and it won't be the last. You've got one of the most volatile, on again-off again relationships I've ever seen, but you love each other and I'm just saying - "

Dean doesn’t need to hear this. He thought he’d made himself plain, but obviously not. "Sam," he barks, "shut up before I make you". He glares at Sam until Sam looks away, sighing, giving in. 

"Skinwalker, half a day's drive - " Sam starts again.

Dean doesn't listen this time either. Sam doesn't get that this time is different than all the other times. Sure he and Cas have had their ups and downs, God have they ever. They've had their ‘we’re dones' spoken in the heat of the moment, they've sworn at each other, cursed at each other, at times they've been on completely opposite sides of the fence, but this wasn't like that. When Dean asked Cas to leave, when he'd thrown him out with only the few bucks Dean had in his pocket at the time, it hadn't been in anger and that had made a huge difference to Cas.

And obviously as soon as Gadreel left and Sam was back to being Sam, Dean had explained and Cas said he understands Dean’s reasons, but Cas was hurt by it nevertheless, and he hasn't come home yet and that's the bottom line, the only one that matters. 

Dean’s jerked suddenly back to the present by Sam’s palm slamming heavily on to the table top. "Dean... oh, for God's sake." Sam gets up and leaves the room in a huff, door slamming behind him.

"Jerk," Dean mutters quietly under his breath. His heart isn't in it.

Dean’s more distracted than he should be because he’d thought Cas was actually coming around. The last week of phone calls and messages had been normal and regular, not short, sharp and begrudging. And sure, they're still picking their way through Cas's hurt and Dean's guilt, but Dean was getting pretty optimistic for the first time in a little while. But now it’s been a couple of days since Dean heard from Cas, and although that doesn't sound a long time, and in normal circumstances it wouldn't be, at this moment in time it's damn unusual so he's worried and there's no point pretending he's not. 

In fact, he’s not sure why he’s sitting around on his ass. He stands up and goes to find Sam.

 

**

Chapter 3

**

Castiel regains consciousness and he's moaning in pain long before he's had a chance to come fully to his senses. At first he doesn't even realize it's him but once he does every other bit of knowledge follows like a switch turning on in his brain and he snaps his mouth shut.

He's lying flat on his back with nothing but the thin material of his shirt between his skin and the hard, cold floor and his first instinct is to stand up to get away from the chill. It turns out to be a very bad idea – movement of any kind turns out to be a very bad idea. His broken arm objects sharply from where it lies loose by his side but there's an even more pressing pain in his wrist - the wrist attached to the arm that's not broken, the wrist with the bolt through it pinning him to the floor. He lifts his head and looks along the length of his outstretched arm and stares at the bolt in disbelief, breathing heavily, head throbbing as if the bass from one of Dean's music tapes has taken up residence. He drops his head back onto the floor and starts cursing. It's a damned sight more satisfying than moaning. And he finds he has a target for the cursing - the one other occupant in the room, an angel who has his back to Castiel and up until now has been ignoring him.

The cursing gets the angel's attention. "Be quiet," he says without turning around.

"Make me," Castiel says. Perhaps not the wisest of invitations but Castiel will take any reaction he can get right now.

The angel obliges. He crosses the floor, pulls a rag from the pocket of his pants and shoves it unceremoniously into Castiel's mouth. Castiel jerks away instinctively and he really wishes he hadn't when every nerve ending in both arms kicks up a protest. All the air he had in his lungs is huffed out through his nose and he tries to take in a breath around the gag but he can't get enough air in his lungs. His chest is burning with the need for more. He starts to panic, and he twists his head from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the gag. He can't panic. He mustn't. If he does he'll tear at the skin, muscle, bones and tendons in his wrist and he won't be able to stand the pain, which is almost unbearable as it is. Not to mention he’ll probably scream and he’s not going to do that in front of that supercilious son-of-a-bitch. 

The angel silently circles around Castiel, watching Castiel with uncaring eyes. It’s as if he’s waiting for something. After a moment, just as Castiel finally thinks he's regained control of himself, it becomes clear what. The angel picks up a spanner and slots it around the bolt attached to Castiel's wrist. Castiel watches in a horror he tries not to show. The angel focuses on Castiel’s face and Castiel forces himself not to break eye contact as the angel turns the spanner and twists the bolt, and even though Castiel screams through the gag he doesn't blink. He feels dizzy with pain and lack of air and he doesn't know how long it will be before he passes out. He should probably try to fight it but unconsciousness would be a blessing. Multiple streams of thick, dark red blood run down his inner forearm and even that hurts, every nerve ending sensitive to every touch.

The angel watches.

"Don't scream," the angel says, and pulls the gag out. Castiel takes a deep breath and he bites on his lip hard to stifle the noises he wants to make because he definitely doesn't want the gag back. Blood pools on his tongue from where his teeth break the skin and the metallic taste makes him want to throw up. He chokes back the rising bile in his throat with difficulty.

"There's a rumor going around that you might be the key to re-opening Heaven," the angel says. 

Castiel takes another breath. He can barely think straight which must be the point. "It's a lie," he hisses through gritted teeth.

"Maybe, maybe not." The angel quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head just like Dean makes fun of Castiel for, and Castiel stifles an hysterical urge to laugh. He wishes Dean was here now – no, he doesn’t, that’s ridiculous – he tries to shake the fuzziness out of his head - he wishes he was with Dean – no he doesn’t want that either... Dean threw him out. He squeezes his eyes shut tight then blinks them open again. He needs to focus.

The angel takes out his blade and toys with it. It's a ridiculously unsubtle attempt to scare him and Castiel almost sneers, but he doesn’t because when he can't quite bring himself to actively invite further torture, not after the last time. The pain in his wrist is already making it impossible to concentrate, blinding him to options for escape that some part of him is sure must be there.

"We can work together," Castiel says, "it doesn't have to be like this. I want Heaven re-opened again as much as you do."

"Do you?" The second angel leans in close. "We don't really see how that can be. This playacting at being human doesn't seem to support that. What have you done to try and re-open the gates of Heaven since you fell?"

He closes his eyes - nothing, he's done nothing - then he flings them open again when the angel's sword slashes across one of his ribs, splitting the skin to the bone.

"Tell us what you know of Metatron's spell," the angel intones.

The cut stings, though ‘sting’ is much too light a word for it. Castiel holds his mouth firmly closed then blinks heavily once before he speaks. "I only know what you know." 

The angel swipes again at Castiel's ribs with his blade. Castiel curls momentarily into the injury until his wrist brings him back up sharply. Another slash & he winces but doesn't move - daren't move. Slash, slash, slash. Castiel's barely conscious of anything now, but he lifts his head weakly and looks down at himself. A series of truth sigils track up his ribcage, his shirt a bloody, torn mess. He drops his head back to the floor.

"I don't know anything," he mumbles, his words slurring.

Castiel's torturer keeps going. Sigils are carved into his arms, his palms, one cheek. And still the same question - "Tell me what you know," and the same answer, that he doesn't know anything because it's the truth. The angel has to believe him. At some point, he realizes he does believe him. The sigils stop having meaning, the slashes stop making sigils; Castiel's blood lies in pools on the floor, and in streaks and splashes on the walls and ceilings. He's stopped being aware of every cut, every slash; he's stopped being aware of anything much.

He's only semi-conscious when the door opens and a second angel hurries up to the first and begins speaking urgently into his ear. When the new angel leaves, the first turns back to Castiel and crouches down beside him.

"It seems you get to leave here earlier than originally planned. It seems you have friends in angel-kind that want you back."

Castiel's eyelids are so heavy he can hardly lift them, but he gets them half-way. "Lucky me," he murmurs, barely audible. He gives a small smile when the angel scowls and sighs a breath of relief as his eyes close and oblivion finally, finally washes over him.

 

**

Chapter 4

**

Dean's phone rings in his pocket and he snatches it out, fumbling in his haste. He glances at the caller ID in relief and swipes to pick up. "Cas."

"Is this Dean Winchester?" the voice at the other end, most definitely not Cas, asks.

Dean growls from the depth of his sudden fear. "Who the hell is this?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?" the voice insists.

Dean looks at Sam and makes desperate one-handed signals that Sam should trace the damn phone call and he puts the phone on speaker as Sam pulls some cables out of a drawer. 

"This is Dean Winchester," Dean says after a pause. "Now who is this?"

"I'm a friend of Castiel's."

"Prove it. Put him on the phone."

There's a long sigh, then a brief silence, before the voice speaks. "I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?" 

Sam plugs the connector in from his laptop to the phone, then nods and turns his laptop around so Dean can see the screen too. The little tracer dot starts tracking across a little graphic globe.

"He's been taken captive by a faction of angels that are decidedly not his friends. I tried to hide him from them, but I failed."

The guy sounds so damn calm, Dean wants to reach down the phone and throttle him. "What the hell does any of that mean? Where is he. He'd better be safe."

"He's a long way from safe." 

Sam plucks at Dean's sleeve and points his attention at the laptop where the tracer dot is narrowing down to a spot in Kansas.

"I'm sure by now you know where to find me," the voice says as the tracer dot comes to a stop about a hundred and twenty kilometers away. "If you want to help Castiel, we have to work together."

#

"My name is Elias," the guy says as soon as Sam and Dean are both out of the car. The area's open - no trees, no buildings, just a field in a string of fields. It's as if it's been picked to create the least suspicion, and that kind of thing tends to have the opposite effect on Dean.

"And you are what?" Dean snarls back.

"What?" Elias looks confused.

"Angel, demon, human - what are you?" Dean asks impatiently. Sam stands at his side looking around him carefully for signs of movement while Dean talks.

Elias's features lighten in understanding. "Angel," he says, then adds hastily when Dean slides an angel blade out of his inner jacket pocket, "But on your side. And Castiel's."

"Where's Cas?" Dean asks. Sam puts a restraining hand on Dean's elbow, and yes, Dean's trembling with rage, worry, anxiety - he's not sure which, maybe all three - but Dean has no intention of taking a piece out of this guy. Not until he knows where Cas is anyway.

"I don't know where he is," Elias says looking genuinely contrite, "but I can show you where he was. He's in some serious trouble."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I wanted to keep him safe." Elias echoes the conversation on the phone and makes it all sound suspiciously rehearsed. "But they found him anyway." He shakes his head and stares at the ground. "I left him with humans and I put him somewhere a long way from where he was – a long way from where anyone should have been looking. They shouldn't have been able to find him."

"Get to the point. Who exactly has him?" Sam asks.

Elias laughs but there's no humor in it. He looks up at the sky, then back at Dean and Sam. "I'm not sure." Dean takes a step forward, losing patience. Elias holds out a palm to stay him. "A lot of people want him. Castiel may be the answer to reopening the gates of Heaven, or the answer to keeping them closed forever. Some hate him for his mistakes, some hate him for pointing out theirs."

Sam asks bluntly. "And which of those are you?"

Elias gives a small smile. "None of the above. We want to set Castiel free of his obligations. We believe that Castiel's heart lies the closest of all of us to God's intent. We have a spell, and after we finish the spell, Castiel will be free to live out his life as a human without interference. It will make Castiel worthless to those who see him as a tool. All we had to do was keep him out of the way for a few days but his enemies moved faster than we expected."

It all sounds like bullshit to Dean and Sam is bristling with impatience beside him, though he's a little better at hiding it. "So you lost him once, and now you've lost him a second time. How long exactly have whoever-it-is that has him, had him?" Sam asks. 

Elias looks unhappy. "Three days." 

Not as bad as it could be but even so Dean's mind unhappily works its way through the possible horrors that can be inflicted by unhappy angels over three whole days.

"What will they do to him? What have they done to him?" Dean asks, not sure if he wants to know.

Elias shakes his head and doesn't give a direct answer. "The sooner we find him the better," he says which does not sound at all good, "Which is where you come in. Yesterday they moved Castiel when they detected us when we tried to rescue him. If we can find out where they moved him to there's no point in us trying to approach them again but you're not angels - you can do it. They won't be able to sense you until it's too late."

"And then?" asks Sam. "After we find him? You said you wanted him for a spell."

"We'll take him and complete the spell. Then he's all yours."

Dean exchanges a look with Sam. Sam puts a hand on his shoulder and lowers his mouth to Dean's ear. "I don't trust him," he whispers.

Dean nods. "Me neither," he says. "But this is Cas, man."

"So what do you want to do?"

Dean has one eye on Elias who's standing patiently, waiting. It would be freakin' awesome if one day life cut them some slack. The truth is without Elias Dean's not sure he'd know where to start looking for Cas, and not looking for Cas isn't an option. And as much as Dean doesn't trust Elias's motives, he does believe him when he says Cas is in trouble. Dean cut Cas loose once, he's not going to do it again.

"I don't see how we've got a choice."

Sam nods unhappily in agreement and turns to Elias. "So let's have a look at where Cas was being held," Sam says, "We need to know what we’re up against."

#

Dean bends to rub at the dry brown flakes on the concrete floor. "No-one's been here for a day or maybe more," he says twisting on the balls of his feet to peer up at Sam and Elias. He tries not to panic at the sheer amount of blood. It's on the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling. Dean chokes back the need to throw up which is ridiculous. He's seen and smelt worse before; much worse. But there's so much of it, painted in streaks, splashes, round pools. How could Cas have survived this? 

Sam puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean turns to stare at him. Sam's eyes are wide and frightened.

"He's alive," Dean says, his voice deeper than normal, the words growled out as if he's daring the world to prove him wrong. He turns to Elias. "Isn't he?"

Elias nods once. "That’s what our information tells us."

Sam walks across to the furthest wall. There are chains hanging from the wall and a bolt screwed into the floor. He leans in to look at the bolt then steps back suddenly, making a sick-sounding gargling noise deep in his throat.

Dean stands up. "What?" He takes a step towards Sam and Sam turns to meet him. He looks horrified. "What?" Dean repeats, trying to look over Sam's shoulder. 

Sam blocks him. "Don't," he croaks. Sam must know that isn't going to cut it. Dean pushes past him and peers at the bolt. His face darkens as he sees what Sam saw - the small piece of flesh caught between the bolt and the floor that could only have got there by the bolt being screwed in through someone's skin. He turns away quickly.

"I told you not to look."

"That's real helpful Sam."

"We have to find him."

"No frigging kidding." 

Dean stalks up to Elias. "Find him," he hisses.

 

**

Chapter 5

**

Castiel blinks himself awake with a violent shudder and a sincere wish that he could go straight back to the enveloping blackness. His arms burn with pain on either side of him, an all-encompassing, overwhelming fire. They've been pulled as wide apart as they'll go, beyond what's reasonable, and held there against the wall with rough rope that seems to have been applied with the intention of causing him most distress; on one side the rope rubs against the raw tissue of his wrist and on the other it pulls apart the two halves of the break in his bone. At least he's sitting – he’s found over the past day that it makes passing out so much easier.

He takes in shallow breaths, it's all he can easily manage with his chest stretched out the way it is, and he pulls his legs up towards his bare chest to try and get some warmth. It's the least of his concerns, but still, he's numbingly cold. He lost his shirt sometime between the last place and this place, but he doesn't remember when between the pulling and pushing and the blindfolded ride in the back of a cold van, taunted by the demons assigned to guard him and pain pushing him under conscious thought more often than not. 

A demon strolls in through the open door, easy and lazy; a swagger almost. He walks up close and simply stares. Castiel watches him through swollen, blackened eyes.

"I don't see why you're so special," the demon says eventually.

"Me neither," Castiel mumbles. The split in his lip opens again as the skin stretches to form the words. Castiel licks the new blood away with the tip of his tongue. "Maybe you should let me go." If the demon lets him go, Castiel decides, he's going to go home, back to Dean and Sam. Life's too short to waste even a second of it and he always knew he’d go back sometime, it was just a matter of when.

He doesn’t know what part of him thought there was a possibility the demon would take his suggestion seriously. The demon laughs out loud, an ugly guffaw that puffs rancid breath into the room that Castiel can smell even from where he’s sitting. The demon spits in Castiel's face. "Yeah, like that's going to happen."

The demon turns his back on Castiel and walks to the nearest corner. A bucket of cold water sits there. Castiel knows what’s coming and he flinches in reflex before the bucket's even half way up, but it doesn't matter how much he prepares himself, the icy cold water on his naked torso stings. Water gets in his mouth and up his nose and he chokes on it. The water that runs off onto the floor is dark pink with his blood.

The demon walks back. Laughing he puts the bucket back and refills it under a tap as Castiel coughs and retches. It's about now he's usually allowed to pass out again, lightheaded from pain and near asphyxiation – apparently not this time. The demon takes Castiel's broken forearm in both hands and twists, and when Castiel screams the demon laughs again. When he stops laughing he grabs Castiel's hair in a meaty fist and pulls his head back, slamming it into the wall and Castiel's vision swims.

"If I'm so special," Castiel slurs, "perhaps you should take better care of me."

The demon smiles. "See, that's the fun thing from my point of view. As long as you're alive, the boss doesn't care how many pieces you're in." He leans in and grabs the forefinger of Castiel's left hand. "So I can do this," he says, snarling with unconcealed pleasure as he pushes Castiel's finger backwards until the bone snaps, audibly echoing in the chamber. It's the last thing Castiel hears for a while.

 

**

Chapter 6

**

"Demons?" Dean whispers in disbelieving near-panic. Demons has to be worse than angels, right? Though sometimes he wonders what the difference is.

Elias runs his fingers through his hair in a scarily human gesture. "The demons want Heaven's gates re-opened too. The fewer angels there are on Earth the better for them."

"Why the hell does everyone think Cas is the key to making all this happen?" If Dean's voice sounds a little desperate he doesn't give a crap.

Something flits briefly across Elias's face, a look that hides a thought that Dean doesn't quite catch the meaning of but it reminds Dean that they don't trust Elias. "He is the key – that’s the point. Metatron was fairly specific about using Castiel for his spell," Elias explains as if talking to a small child. 

Dean takes a breath to calm down. He’s glad Sam’s here to keep him sane. "And you know where the demons are keeping him? Right now? For real?"

“I do,” Elias agrees

"Then why in hell are we still hanging around here?"

#

They're not as late this time, the pink watery puddles on the floor haven't had a chance to dry out, though the blood on the walls has. Dean reckons they've missed them by around three or four hours. For some reason the fact that they're catching up to Cas isn't as comforting as it should be.

Dean stands and stares for a long time at the thick ropes hanging loose on the wall. They're placed wide apart, and narrow loops - male wrist-sized - hang red and bloody from the end of each rope length. Sam is trying them out. Sam is taller, wider, longer limbed than Cas but even he barely reaches easily from one to the other. He grimaces and looks at Dean his face saying everything his mouth isn’t. Sam, who has seen Hell, let alone Hell on Earth, looks at Dean more lost than Dean has seen him for a long time. 

Dean turns to Elias. "So, where is he now?"

Elias shakes his head. "I'm sorry - I don't know."

Dean takes two steps forwards so he's almost chest to chest with Elias. "You what?" he says so quietly that Sam, who knows what that means, gulps. Dean can see him edging forward in his peripheral vision. 

"Dean... Cas needs us... don't. It’s not Elias’s fault."

“How the hell do we know that for sure, Sam?” Dean asks not taking his eyes from Elias.

Elias, totally unfazed, takes a step back. "We'll find him." Then he turns and leaves and Dean, deflated, drops his chin to his chest. Sam places his hand tentatively on Dean's shoulder but Dean shakes him off.

"Sam, I swear when we find Cas, I will beg him to come home if that's what it takes. I am not letting him out of my frigging sight again. C'mon. We need to see if we've got any friends left who can help us out here."

#

"Yeah, thanks Erin. I got it." Dean makes a note on a scrap of paper and pushes it across to Sam as Sam walks into the room half way through Dean's phone conversation. 'Demons smote not far from where they were holding Cas' he wrote, and Sam's eyebrow goes up when he reads it.

"How long ago d'you think?" Dean asks Erin.

"Maybe twelve hours," Erin says, which would make it around the time they estimated the demons took Cas away from where they were holding him. Which would mean that the demons don’t now have Cas, someone else does. Dean doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

Dean rests his elbow on the table digging his fingers into his scalp and curls into his seat. He turns away from Sam so that Sam can't see his face because he knows he's past hiding the worst of his anguish. "I don't suppose... was there... was there any sign of Cas? Or where they might have taken him?"

He has to ask even though he's fairly sure he knows the answer, but when Erin speaks hesitantly at the other end of the phone his head jerks up in interest because anything, however uncertain, is more than he expected. 

"It's a long-shot," Erin says, "but on one of the phones we found on the demons there was a message about bringing Cas to this spot. I've got the number the message came from... like I said, it's a long-shot but you might be able to trace the phone that sent the message."

 

**

Chapter 7

**

Castiel doesn't know how long he's been here, in this latest place - it's hard to track time when he's dipping in and out of consciousness so readily. Perhaps unconsciousness is only a few snatched seconds of peace here and there, perhaps it's hours. Sometimes it's almost impossible for him to tell when he's awake and when he's not, and even the barbed wire wrapped around his naked body from his neck to his heels isn't enough to keep his mind sharp and aware - except when he moves. When he moves the sharp pieces of wire with their razor-sharp points jolt him in to a much too real awareness. 

He wants this all to be over. He's had enough. He'd like to see Dean again, to tell him he forgives him, that he would have come home if he’d had the chance. He'd like to have so many things, but the only way he can see to stop this now is for him to die. It's selfish to want that, probably. He wonders if Dean and Sam will ever find out what happened to him. 

He’s rambling again. It's so hard to concentrate. His vision grays at the edges, then goes black, then his mind slips away too and there’s a blessed nothing again.

#

He tries to ease a kink out of the muscles in his shoulders and stops sharply at the sudden, cutting pain, muttering curses. He forgot. How could he possibly forget? At least there's one advantage to the barbed wire - the pain in his arms almost becomes insignificant.

He looks along the surface of the wooden floorboards he's lying on and he notices he's in the middle of a sigil drawn in blood, presumably his but who knows? It wasn't there last time he looked, seconds ago in his mind. He must have lost consciousness again. How much blood does the human body have?

He's come to the conclusion that he's not relevant to the spell - any of them. Metatron wouldn't have left such an obvious loophole. He really wishes someone would come in and talk to him so he could tell them that. Then maybe they’d let him go home. Or at least let him die in peace. The air is freezing cold against his skin. He feels the blackness closing in this time. He doesn't always. He opens himself to it gratefully.

 

**

Chapter 8

**

Dean's in two minds whether to tell Elias they have a lead on Cas but in the end they do. Dean's been trying not to get his hopes up, but he can't help himself, and if Elias can find out if Cas is actually there before they go rushing in all gung-ho then it's worth the risk. Besides, Elias might be telling the truth, he might be able and willing to make Cas safe, so it's an opportunity for Elias to prove himself before they actually hand Cas over. Dean and Sam don't trust him but Dean doesn't know for sure and he doesn't want to cut off his nose to spite his face. 

Hence Sam and Dean are propping themselves up on the Impala beside a lonely highway freezing their balls off while they wait for Elias to turn up. 

When he does, Dean barely even gives him time to get out of the car. "We might have a lead," Dean says after Elias has climbed from the drivers seat of a soulless BMW. 

Elias walks to stand in front of Dean. "That's good."

Sam spreads the map over the hood of the Impala and points to the tell-tale 'X'. "The angels seem to have tricked the demons into an ambush. We were able to trace the phone that laid the trap." 

Elias leans around Sam to look at the map. "How sure are you that Castiel is there?" 

"Not one-hundred percent," Sam admits, "but we had some hunters check out the location and it looks legit. And that's what we want you to do - to check if Cas is actually there if you can do it without tipping our hand."

Elias doesn't look convinced and Dean can't really blame him after the run around they've had up until now but he agrees anyway. "I can try," and he turns and walks away, bowing his head as if in prayer, and Dean realizes that's probably exactly what it is. 

Fifteen minutes later, he's back. "We can't tell for sure about Castiel - we didn't have enough time and couldn't get close enough - but there are four angels in the house and one unidentified human. As you say it looks promising."

Dean fishes his car keys out of his pocket. "That's good enough to convince me we need to take a look." He raises an eyebrow at Sam and Elias waiting for a response. Neither of them hesitate in agreeing, not that Dean really needs their agreement, and two minutes later Dean and Sam are heading to the Impala. They're two hours away and Dean's keen to cover that distance as quickly as possible.

"Wait," Elias says, grabbing Dean's arm as Dean reaches for the door handle. "If you find him and get him out of there, we'll be waiting close by. We'll take him to finish the spell to make him safe."

Dean hesitates ever so slightly, then says, "Sure," but he must have given something away because there's that fleeting expression crossing Elias's face that Dean doesn't trust. Elias lets go of his arm but Dean can tell he's suspicious – he just doesn’t know if that’s going to be a problem when it comes down to it, but he can’t do anything about it now and as soon as they're driving away, Dean lets out a heartfelt expletive.

Sam looks at him. "He doesn't believe we'll hand Cas over."

"No."

"Will we?"

"Only if Cas says so. If Elias is telling us the truth then we want what he's selling, but I'm not rescuing Cas from one set of dicks to hand him gift-wrapped to another set of dicks. Not without Cas's say so."

"And if Cas isn't in a condition to say so?" Sam asks quietly.

"Then we wait until he is," Dean says plainly. "We ward the bunker against every son-of-a-bitch we can think of and we wait until he tells us it's okay."

 

**

Chapter 9

**

When Castiel wakes this time, he doesn't bother to open his eyes so the voice in the room startles him.

"You're awake, I think."

He opens one eye and dried blood sealing his eyelids together cracks open so that he can peer through. "Evidently," he croaks.

"I wish I could say I was sorry about this Castiel, but I'm not." The angel pulls out a blade and crouches by Castiel's feet, lets his eyes track up Castiel's body until he focuses on Castiel's face. "You deserve this, and the gates of Heaven will be re-opened so that all our brethren can return. Metatron will be cast out, and things will go back to the way they should be."

Castiel grimaces and even that takes effort. "It won’t work.” Castiel swallows, but he's got no saliva to wet his throat so his voice comes out hoarse. "I’m not as useful as you think I am."

After a minute where the angel does nothing but stare at Castiel thoughtfully, the angel speaks again. "It’s possible. We’ll see. I, for one, have nothing to lose by trying."

The angel leans to one side and carefully examines one of Castiel’s feet. He trails the tip of the blade along the skin lightly and where it should tickle it hurts. Castiel holds himself tense and ready for the inevitable. When the blade reaches the thin skin over the bone of Castiel’s ankle, the angel applies pressure and the tip of the blade pierces the skin, then the bone and cartilage. Blood dribbles from the cut on to the floor, and scooping it up on the fingertips of one hand the angel starts to draw a second, closer sigil on the floor around Castiel, speaking in Enochian as he does so. 

Every few inches, he goes back to get more blood. Castiel closes his eyes. When the circle's drawn and Castiel is barely conscious, the angel takes the blade and cuts a slice into the sole of Castiel's foot. Castiel's whole body jerks away and the barbs of the wire cut deeper but Castiel’s almost past noticing. The angel grabs Castiel's ankles and holding them tight to keep them still, he chants, slicing precise patterns into the soft skin on the top and sides of both Castiel's feet. Castiel starts a chant of his own. "Dean, Dean..." and at some point, nowhere near soon enough, he passes out completely.

 

**

Chapter 10

**

Dean and Sam crash into the house armed to the teeth with angel blades and Enochian curses designed to incapacitate but they don’t have to use any of them. They’re met with no resistance as they run from room to room having decided a direct assault was better than trying to creep past angels with their radar switched on. They stick together as they systematically work their way through the rooms on the ground floor, then by mutual agreement head through the door to the basement.

When they get to the bottom of the steps they can tell the basement isn’t one large room. The area they’re in is large enough but there’s a wall with two doors set in it at the far end and light shines from under one door. They rush that way and through the door not bothering to listen for signs of activity in the room because by now they’re not expecting any. 

When they get in Dean and Sam stutter to a shocked stop. Cas lies on the floor, still as death, naked, covered in blood and cuts and wrapped in barbed wire from shoulder to ankle. Multiple sigils, painted in blood, surround him. An angel stands looking down at him, a bloody blade in his hand and an angry expression on his face.

Dean raises his own blade. “Get away from him.”

“You’re welcome to him,” the angel spits out. “He’s useless to me.” The angel turns fast on his heel to face Dean and Sam. “I’m leaving. It’s best for everyone if you let me,” he says, looking down at Cas and leaving absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind what will happen if he isn’t allowed to leave. 

Dean looks between Cas and the angel, then he makes a decision quickly, grabbing Sam’s arm and dragging him to one side of the door. 

“Go,” he instructs the angel, desperate for the angel to be gone so that he and Sam can get to Cas.

The angel crosses to the door and Dean steps further away, not trusting him in the least, but the angel leaves the room without looking back, without even glancing their way and Sam’s already crossing the room to Cas as the angel’s back disappears up the stairs to the ground floor.

Sam crouches beside Cas, fingers gently pressed to the side of Cas’s neck. "I can't feel a pulse," Sam says urgently, moving his fingers up and down where Cas’s pulse should be. Sam moves his fingers to Castiel's wrist but then pulls them away. His fingers go back to Cas's neck. "I thought I felt something... yeah... yes, there." Sam gasps with relief. "Weak, but there."

Dean drops heavily to his knees beside Cas as if his legs suddenly gave way under him. He’s on autopilot now. Without saying a word he pulls out his sharpest knife and starts cutting the wire binding Cas. Sam does the same. Cas may be alive but he shows no sign of life as Dean and Sam peel the wire off his body, trying hard not to do more damage than is already done. Blood sluggishly seeps out of Cas's wounds until Sam and Dean's hands are stained red with it. When they're done and Sam is pushing the wire to one corner with a look of disgust, Dean lifts Cas's shoulders off the cold ground and rests Cas's upper body in his lap. Cas’s head lolls heavily in the crook of Dean’s arm. Dean blinks back the tears that prickle in his eyes as he holds Cas there with one warm hand tentatively and carefully laid on the cold skin over Cas’s heart and he lets the too-fast, too-weak beat comfort him in the reality that Cas is alive, the stubborn bastard.

Cas groans in Dean’s lap and Dean’s head snaps down faster than is entirely sensible. "Dean?" Cas is barely audible and Dean ducks low to hear him. "You came?" 

Dean's voice cracks a little because if Cas didn’t think they’d even look for him things between them were worse than he thought. “Of course we came.”

Cas reaches one arm up towards Dean’s face. Cas’s wrist is shredded in the center between the two bones of his forearm just before they meet the heel of his hand, and all up and down the length of Cas’s arm bloody cuts ooze as they stretch with his movement. Dean’s horrified but doesn’t tell him to stop. Cas’s fingertips touch Dean’s cheek and Cas smiles, briefly, before dropping his arm carefully down again to lie across his stomach. Cas closes his eyes. “You came.”

Dean leans in. He finds an inch of undamaged skin on Cas's forehead and kisses it lightly. “Always. I thought you knew that,” he whispers, because even at times like this there are some things Sam does not need to hear. 

Cas starts trembling, a persistent shiver, and his eyes flicker open, then closed again. Dean can’t find anywhere to hold him that’s not going to hurt and his hands stay where they are. It becomes clear after a moment, that it doesn’t really matter - Cas is no longer conscious.

"We've got to get him out of here," Sam says. “We should do it now, while he’s out, otherwise it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

Dean couldn’t agree more. He stands up quickly grabbing Cas under his arms and around his chest. Sam picks up his knees. Cas hangs limply between them as they carry him out of the house. They see no-one. Dean waits by the front door with Cas while Sam goes to bring the car closer.

Cas can’t hear him but Dean talks to him anyway. Dean’s always found it easier to talk to him when he’s asleep and he wonders suddenly if Cas does the same. Maybe they need to talk about that.

When Sam turns up with the car it takes them another half an hour before they hit the road. Cas is maneuvered carefully into the back seat and they cover the worst of his injuries in gauze and bandages completely exhausting their stock. Dean can’t remember a time when they’ve ever done that before. Cas wakes a couple of times during the bandaging, the first time he’s tense, panting heavily, moaning loudly, and initially confused when he spots Sam, but the second time he silently watches Dean in a way that would be creepy if it was anyone else but Cas. Dean would find it more comforting if his face wasn’t black and blue. Then Sam gives him a shot of morphine that’s going to take the edge off the pain and knocks him out again and they cocoon him in blankets, strapping the broken arm good and secure against his chest.

They've stopped the bleeding, got him warm, and he's still alive. Dean hates this bit, when there's nothing more he can do. 

 

**

Chapter 11

**

They’re several hours from the bunker but that’s where they’re heading. By rights they should take Cas to a hospital but they can't ward it well enough and Dean’s still fully aware of the various factions hunting him. It’s quiet at the moment, but they can’t guarantee it will stay that way. It’s worrying him more than he wants to admit despite having found Cas alive, they haven’t solved anything, and although Sam’s quiet Dean’s fairly sure his thoughtful silence means he’s reached a similar conclusion.

The obvious answer is Elias, and as if on cue a familiar BMW picks up their tail just outside town, overtaking them and then forcing them to a stop by slowing and stopping in front of them.

Dean turns off the engine. “Decision time,” he says to Sam. This is it. Do they trust Elias or don’t they? How the hell is Dean supposed to know?

Elias climbs out of the passenger seat of the car in front and an angel they haven’t seen before gets out of the driver’s side. The driver hangs around by the car while Elias approaches the Impala. Dean turns around and checks on Cas who’s quiet and sleeping thanks to the drugs. Sam shrugs. “Well?”

“We can’t protect him,” Dean says, voicing his fears. “If Elias can… “

Sam picks up where Dean trailed off. “If Elias can protect him then what choice do we have?”

Dean stares out of the windscreen at Elias. He’s getting close now. He’ll be right up next to the Impala at any minute. Dean takes one more look over at Cas on the back seat, then he turns back to the front, takes a breath to steady his nerves, opens his door and steps out to meet Elias.

“You have him,” Elias says, a statement, not a question.

“Yeah.” Dean stands up a little straighter. It makes him seem more confident than he feels. “Can you do what you said? Can you make it so they’re not all looking for him?”

“Of course.” Elias turns and beckons to his driver who starts walking towards them obediently. “We’ll take him now.”

Dean hates this, it feels so wrong. “Yeah, okay.”

Sam climbs out and walks around to stand beside him. Sam doesn’t say anything but Dean’s immensely grateful for the solid strength of his brother standing next to him. 

They open the rear door where Cas’s feet lie incongruously white, wrapped in their bandages and sticking out of the end of the dark brown blanket. Elias ducks his head to peer inside. Dean hears him suck his breath in sharply.

Elias withdraws his head and he doesn’t look happy. “I didn’t think he’d be like this. What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a mess,” Dean says reluctantly. “We had to drug him for the pain. It looks like the last lot even used him in some kind of ritual.”

Elias’s eyes narrow and Dean gets a sudden reminder exactly what he’s dealing with. “What makes you say that?” It’s like a switch has flicked. Elias’s face is hard and calculating and it makes Dean all kinds of nervous. Sam not so subtly moves closer to Dean.

“Sigils around him on the floor,” Dean says warily, “And carved into his feet.”

“Show me,” Elias demands. 

Dean briefly considers saying no, and no thanks, getting in the car and putting a hell of a lot of distance between them and Elias but he doesn’t think they’ll get very far. But the difference between the Elias they’ve know up until now, helpful and apparently caring about Cas, and this Elias in front of them, all dick angel with extra attitude makes Dean think they were right all along not to trust him. He just doesn’t know where that leaves them.

“Stay here,” he mouths silently to Sam while he moves to the open rear car door. The other angel, the car driver, follows him. He feels trapped, Elias on one side and the driver on the other. At least Sam is still behind Elias. He hopes Sam still has his angel blade on him and it’s not in the trunk with the other weapons – with Dean’s.

Dean ducks down and cradles Cas’s ankle carefully in one hand while he unwraps the bandages on Cas’s foot with the other. He can feel Elias hovering close and tense behind him. When Cas’s foot is bare, and the sigils on both the thin top skin and the fleshy sole are clearly visible, Dean steps back and Elias steps forward.

Elias stares for what seems an age, then he makes a noise that Dean can only describe as an angry animalistic growl.

Elias backs out of the car. “He’s useless,” and Dean remembers that that’s what the angel in the house had said too. He hadn’t understood it then and he doesn’t understand it now. “Metatron fooled us. He fooled me.” Elias pulses with a fury he makes absolutely no attempt to hide and even the other angel takes a step away. “That bastard.” He shakes his fist into the air and he fumes up at the sky. “You threw away the key, you bastard. Castiel was supposed to be the key, but he’s useless. Nothing but a piece of useless human trash.” Elias turns back to the car, his face is ugly and distorted so intense is his anger. “A piece of useless human trash,” Elias repeats, hissing and spitting, staring at Cas in a way Dean doesn’t like one little bit.

“What the hell’s going on?” He grabs Elias’s shoulder, trying to pull him around in an effort to distract him from Cas. 

Elias turns to face him. “You’re an idiot,” he says fast and furious, “You think I wanted to help Castiel? Seriously? I don’t want to be stuck on this godforsaken piece of rock any longer. Castiel was going to get me out.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks. Dean’s facing Elias who has his back to Sam. The other angel is watching his boss nervously. Sam has no-one’s attention and is slowly coming up behind Elias, silver glinting in his hand. All Dean needs to do is keep Elias busy.

Elias’s face twists cruelly. “I was going to kill him,” he says. “His blood was going to be my escape. Sigils cut into his flesh.” He turns back towards the car and jabs a finger to point at Castiel’s foot, “like these. But they didn’t work did they? That’s why he’s still alive.” Elias grabs Castiel’s foot in his fist, squeezing viciously, and it’s enough to jerk Castiel violently out of his morphine-induced sleep with a gut-wrenching cry. Elias turns at the sound, shoving his head in through the door of the car. 

“Elias I presume,” Dean hears Cas rasp out with his too-dry throat, and bless him, but he almost sounds like his normal badass self and for just a second Dean forgets and he grins. Go Cas.

But Elias’s next words have Dean back in the present. “I should kill you anyway,” Elias says. The quiet, even tone of Elias’s voice is more menacing than when Elias was yelling. 

Dean takes a step forward to drag Elias bodily out of the car if he has to but he’s yanked out of the way by Sam who pushes in front of him before Dean even gets a chance to be worried. Elias is handicapped by his position half in and half out of the car and before he can pull himself all the way out of the car and defend himself, Sam stabs him in the back. Just like that, so frigging easy. Sam grabs Elias’s collar as he starts to fall and yanks him all of the way out of the car so he doesn’t fall on Cas when he crumples, with a brief surge of bright blue light, on to the tarmac. 

Dean and Sam turn as one to the second angel expecting an attack, but it doesn’t come. The angel’s standing watching them, eyes flicking briefly down to Elias’s body lying in a heap in the dirt. He stares at something over Dean’s shoulder and Dean turns to look. Cas is behind him, wrapped in his blanket, leaning against the side of the car. He’s barely upright, swaying slightly and looking as if a gentle breeze would knock him over.

“I remember you – you abducted me and you were on the boat,” Cas murmurs. He coughs and screws his face into a pained expression, and Dean resists the urge to go to him and hold him up. Dean feels you should never underestimate how much it undermines your authority to be held up while trying to appear capable of taking the other guy down. 

The angel doesn’t move. Cas shuffles forward which is stupid, considering. 

“I have no grudge with you. You can leave,” Cas mumbles. 

“Whoa, now hang on a minute,” Dean says, disagreeing kind of a lot. After all, this angel was in cahoots with Elias. He had to know they were planning on killing Cas.

“Dean,” Cas says, turning unsteadily until he’s facing Dean. If there’s one thing Cas is good at it’s talking with his eyes. 

Dean reaches a hand out trying to remember where all of Cas’s injuries are under the blanket and failing miserably. He settles for placing his palm on the visibly unblemished skin at the side of Cas’s neck. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Cas nods. “He was good to me.”

The angel finally speaks up, and all three of them turn to listen. “What Metatron did - it wasn’t your fault. If you let me go, I’ll make sure the message gets around that you’re of no worth in the spells and rituals to undo Metatron’s spell. That should stop them hunting you – for that anyway. Many still just want revenge.”

“Thank you,” Cas says quietly. He’s sagging visibly between Dean and Sam. If he falls, it’s going to hurt like a mother-fucker. Dean moves a little closer. The angel steps forward and Sam raises his sword in warning. 

“I can heal you,” the angel says to Cas, “at least a little.”

It’s Cas’s call, not theirs, but Dean trusts this guy more than he ever trusted Elias. This guy’s kind of like Cas – he means well and who is Dean to say if his choice to follow Elias was any worse than Cas’s choice to follow Metatron. 

Only suddenly it’s not Cas’s call because Cas is falling and he’s already unconscious. He’s saved from hitting the ground too fast and too hard by Sam and Dean simultaneously grabbing him from either side.

Cas is a dead weight in their arms, his head falling heavily backwards between their shoulders. 

Dean looks across at Sam and gets an urgent nod. He looks up at the angel. “Do it.” 

 

**

Chapter 12

**

Dean wanders in to the room from wherever it is he’s been for the last fifteen minutes doing whatever it is he’s been doing. The first couple of days he was warding the bunker against all-comers, now Castiel's beginning to suspect he’s not doing anything except staring at his watch given how regular his reappearances are. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Dean asks.

Castiel turns his head to look at him. “It’s only been an hour since we had lunch,” he points out with an irritated grumble. He shuffles sorely on the couch, trying to get more comfortable, trying to do it without making it too obvious. The angel with Elias, whose name Castiel never did find out, healed the worst of Castiel’s injuries, but days later his chest still aches, he still hobbles painfully and his right arm is still pretty much useless. It’s frustrating, Castiel’s impatient to be better, and he’s trying very hard not to take it out on Dean and Sam because he is very relieved to be here, with them. 

“Yeah, well I just thought maybe a snack or … never mind.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and wanders out again, looking sheepish. 

Castiel smiles. Castiel’s trying to hide how much his injuries are still paining him, and Dean’s trying to hide how much he cares. What a pair they make – they deserve each other, they always have. They haven’t even talked about what was happening between them before Castiel was abducted, about when Dean threw Castiel out and why Castiel didn’t come home when he could. The only time they’ve even come close to acknowledging that few weeks ever happened was on Castiel’s first day back when Sam, thinking that he and Castiel were alone, not too subtly checked that Castiel was intending to stay, only to have Dean walk in and say loudly, his eyes fixed on Castiel the whole time, “For God’s sake Sam, Mom and Dad aren’t getting a divorce,” before turning on his heels and marching right back out again. Castiel doesn’t think they'll ever mention it again. Castiel has been sleeping in Dean’s bed, eating Dean’s food, and letting Dean fuss and worry over him – what is there to talk about? 

Cas is still smiling quietly to himself at the memory when Sam walks in.

“Why’re you looking so pleased with yourself?” Sam asks raising one eyebrow into his fringe.

Cas drops his head onto the back of the couch so he can look up at Sam, and still smiling, he says, “I'm glad to be here." "Yeah, well, we're glad you're here." Sam places a hand on Castiel's shoulder and squeezes lightly, affectionately. Castiel closes his eyes, enjoying the grounding reality of the touch but Sam removes his hand quickly. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?" Cas opens his eyes and shakes his head, and to remove the worried look on Sam's face he adds, "And I was just remembering our first day back and what Dean said when you asked if I was staying.”

Sam grins mischievously. “Well Mom, it seems that Dad reckons he’s being a bit obvious with the checking up on how you’re doing and he sent me in to see if you needed anything.”

Castiel frowns. “I thought I was Dad.”

Sam laughs at him. “Seriously?”

Castiel tilts his head and considers. Maybe he and Dean do need to talk about this after all.


End file.
